Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Paula Swanson Sep 2010
Let's see, my oldest son was about seven years old.  The boys had to ride a buss to
school, which my oldest did not do well.  He has this way about him, that tends to have
women authoritative figures letting him off the hook, when he's been naughty.  I always
thought it was his eyes and devilish smile.  They both still get him into and out of
trouble.  But those are stories for another time.

This particular year, he was having a must difficult time behaving on the buss.  He had
discovered that he could be a real clown and the girls loved it.  Go figure.  The buss
driver gave him multiple warnings and "Buss Tickets" for misbehaving.  But, somehow,
he was always forgiven by the schools principal (a woman) and never got detention.  
Even when we insisted on it.

All except this one time.  On the last day of school, he decided to end the year with a
bang.  He came home from school that day and acted as though nothing had
happened.  Later that evening, I received a phone call.  It was the buss driver.  She was
laughing before she was even able to tell me why she called.  Although I was 100% sure
it was about my oldest.

Apparently, he was a little angel the whole ride home.  That alone made her suspicious.  
She pulled up to his stop.  Out he got.  Then he mooned her.  The way the buss driver
told it, it wasn't a quarter moon, nor a half moon.  But a FULL MOON.  He had hitched
up his pants and ran before she could get her wits about her.  She said she laughed all
the way home.

Well, I started to apologize through my laughter.  I assured her that we would most
definitely take this in hand.  But she stopped me and stated "Oh,  I'll handle this".  She
shared with me her plan.  I had the hardest time all summer, not telling him, that I
knew what he had done.

Next year, the very first day of school, my oldest went to catch the buss.  Oh, I had a
hard time waiting to see what would happen.  That afternoon, when he came home, he
was upset.  "Look what she did Mom!  I can't believe it!" he whined.  There in his hand,
was a bright red "BUSS TICKET"  The reason on it was marked in bold felt
pen..."Mooning".  Now, you would think that he would be upset about the mooning.  
Noooo, not my son.  His exact words were...."I can't believe someone that old would
remember what I did."

sigh  That boy has never changed

On a side note:  He and his Dad had a long talk about that Ticket.
emil hernried Apr 2016
everything I do hurts you,
my happiness stresses you out
my energi smother yours,
highlights your loss of it
the same way the kind gestures show me
your weariness
I am well and you aren't  
I would take it all
in a nano second but I can’t
I’ve tried but I can’t
I play tired and I play sick
I’ve tried to show that we’re the same
but i know  
it doesn’t make you less sick
not a single bit
all I can do is to grow
and try to hold your hand
even if you’re left behind
and all this, all this
until death will tear us apart.

I can feel the normality
sending a friend request to death
I can feel time accepting it
I start to recognize the blended soft colors
and the feeling of life coming and going
just hoping it isn’t in my hand.
I am turning into someone else
I say I’m happy
because I know it matters
We have one thing in common here
we don’t complain because the nurses teach us that’s what kills us in the end
I try to stand up outside all of it
I try to feel like anything else matters
but it doesn’t
I’m scared my happiness somewhere else
takes away the happiness we have
until death tears us apart

I take the buss back home
I leave you behind
I fake my way up to sit at the top so that I can see
I have a photo of you on my phone to remember
just in case you would go away
It’s a new feeling a mix between everything
and nothing
I write it down
because I can’t loose these seconds
just in case you would go away
It makes life feel so important
It makes everything else feel stupid.
It makes you stronger
It makes everything heavy
and all you can is hope, hope that it’s not
until death tears us apart

There’s a pregnant woman who wants my seat
I let her have it
I go all the way back I pass one with a burn mark on his face
I wonder how many tears have happened the last ten minutes on this buss
I wonder how they take it
I don’t know how I take it
I know the barr is lower here
the scary part isn’t getting sick
here it’s dying
and in that case
I know I’m the lucky one  
Until death happens to me
and I feel happiness knowing
I’m the lucky one  
I can be light flying over a bridge while everybody else takes the buss
until your death will tear me apart.
Efosa Omorogbe Feb 2016
Fire my eyes shut.
A trail-blaze of thoughts light up my temporal
Answers never do speak in demand
Tongues caught up in hope trip up with excitement
Because words are much more powerful
They might just come true...
They might!

"Find me a girl who will allow me to love her?"
My heart asks with a skip of a beat
The song lyrics always seem to make it seem so simple
Album art illustrated fantasies?
Or just conforming to the industry?
Put your face on it!

Put her face on it!
With the freckles, untamed eyebrows, moles, discoloured lips, natural hair, uneven skin, no makeup and insecurities.
I will see her better.
"Oh, Efosa whatever!
Add the push-up bra
High heels
Curvaceous hips,
Plump red lips.
Who are you kidding?
To buss a nut if you ask
Yes! Buss a nut in her ****
Until you *** over
It's a man's nature
Stop denying it
Makes life easier
Beggars can't be choosers now
Embrace the dark side
Who ever said it was a bad thing?
You're doing yourself a favour
Now...
Stop talking to yourself!"
Jolan Lade Jun 2018
Shirt on, tie and suit
Rushing out the door in new shoes in hot pursuit after the buss
Onboard, looking for a free seat
Looking for new people to meet
Of the buss, rushing to Uni
Have to be there before eight
I'm late, guess that's just fate
Ready to study, human philosophy
Human evolution, what a catastrophe
A real equation, philosophical question, then the answer and a spicy evaluation
Not what we thought, something we forgot?
I guess not
Thinking really hard
Well, I'm not all that smart...
As me, why close thee thy eyes
     When each other we kiss,
             My babe dear?
     Now what nectar is there
     In this my wet tongue
     That does thee wrong,
  Or in that thine poppy lip that lies?
Yet we do ourselves buss just for the bliss!
Anonymity  May 2013
Buss
Anonymity May 2013
A wind glides across the brow
A cauterizing of the brain has begun
A cool rushes forth and fills the body
Lips bubble out no words
Sensations no longer linger
A solemn pit fills your heart
Silence fills the soul

Buss, we must.
Death is with us.
O Prince, O chief of many throned pow’rs!
        That led th’ embattled seraphim to war!
                      (Milton, Paradise Lost)

O thou! whatever title suit thee,—
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie!
Wha in yon cavern, grim an’ sootie,
     Clos’d under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie
     To scaud poor wretches!

Hear me, Auld Hangie, for a wee,
An’ let poor ****** bodies be;
I’m sure sma’ pleasure it can gie,
     E’en to a deil,
To skelp an’ scaud poor dogs like me,
     An’ hear us squeel!

Great is thy pow’r, an’ great thy fame;
Far ken’d an’ noted is thy name;
An’ tho’ yon lowin heugh’s thy hame,
     Thou travels far;
An’ faith! thou’s neither lag nor lame,
     Nor blate nor scaur.

Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion,
For prey a’ holes an’ corners tryin;
Whyles, on the strong-wing’d tempest flyin,
     Tirlin’ the kirks;
Whyles, in the human ***** pryin,
     Unseen thou lurks.

I’ve heard my rev’rend graunie say,
In lanely glens ye like to stray;
Or whare auld ruin’d castles gray
     Nod to the moon,
Ye fright the nightly wand’rer’s way
     Wi’ eldritch croon.

When twilight did my graunie summon
To say her pray’rs, douce honest woman!
Aft yont the **** she’s heard you bummin,
     Wi’ eerie drone;
Or, rustlin thro’ the boortrees comin,
     Wi’ heavy groan.

Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
The stars shot down wi’ sklentin light,
Wi’ you mysel I gat a fright,
     Ayont the lough;
Ye like a rash-buss stood in sight,
     Wi’ waving sugh.

The cudgel in my nieve did shake,
Each bristl’d hair stood like a stake,
When wi’ an eldritch, stoor “Quaick, quaick,”
     Amang the springs,
Awa ye squatter’d like a drake,
     On whistling wings.

Let warlocks grim an’ wither’d hags
Tell how wi’ you on ragweed nags
They skim the muirs an’ dizzy crags
     Wi’ wicked speed;
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues,
     Owre howket dead.

Thence, countra wives wi’ toil an’ pain
May plunge an’ plunge the kirn in vain;
For oh! the yellow treasure’s taen
     By witchin skill;
An’ dawtet, twal-pint hawkie’s gaen
     As yell’s the bill.

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse,
On young guidmen, fond, keen, an’ croose;
When the best wark-lume i’ the house,
     By cantraip wit,
Is instant made no worth a louse,
     Just at the bit.

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,
An’ float the jinglin icy-boord,
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord
     By your direction,
An’ nighted trav’lers are allur’d
     To their destruction.

And aft your moss-traversing spunkies
Decoy the wight that late an drunk is:
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys
     Delude his eyes,
Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
     Ne’er mair to rise.

When Masons’ mystic word an grip
In storms an’ tempests raise you up,
Some **** or cat your rage maun stop,
     Or, strange to tell!
The youngest brither ye *** whip
     Aff straught to hell!

Lang syne, in Eden’d bonie yard,
When youthfu’ lovers first were pair’d,
An all the soul of love they shar’d,
     The raptur’d hour,
Sweet on the fragrant flow’ry swaird,
     In shady bow’r;

Then you, ye auld snick-drawin dog!
Ye cam to Paradise incog,
And play’d on man a cursed brogue,
     (Black be your fa’!)
An gied the infant warld a shog,
     Maist ruin’d a’.

D’ye mind that day, when in a bizz,
Wi’ reeket duds an reestet gizz,
Ye did present your smoutie phiz
     Mang better folk,
An’ sklented on the man of Uz
     Your spitefu’ joke?

An’ how ye gat him i’ your thrall,
An’ brak him out o’ house and hal’,
While scabs and blotches did him gall,
     Wi’ bitter claw,
An’ lows’d his ill-tongued, wicked scaul,
     Was warst ava?

But a’ your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares an’ fechtin fierce,
Sin’ that day Michael did you pierce,
     Down to this time,
*** ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse,
     In prose or rhyme.

An’ now, Auld Cloots, I ken ye’re thinkin,
A certain Bardie’s rantin, drinkin,
Some luckless hour will send him linkin,
     To your black pit;
But faith! he’ll turn a corner jinkin,
     An’ cheat you yet.

But fare you weel, Auld Nickie-ben!
O *** ye tak a thought an’ men’!
Ye aiblins might—I dinna ken—
     Still hae a stake:
I’m wae to think upo’ yon den,
     Ev’n for your sake!
Turt Jun 2013
With your words that made me fly somehow.
But hidden within ur innerself its always been your sweetest lie.
Talking bout your dreams devouring me like ashes twisted and slowly disappearing.
The truth acts like a spirited-away. Letting it fly back to its inside.

There's this always inside of you. Something hidden and somethng blocked. Stopping you from outpouring what's inside.

Mind and heart was in despair. They were always contrary but hearing all! With your honesty, i know there is all the droppin of everythng. All numb but eyes were all blown. I cant stop it.
But all a could say. Everythng was fragile.

Revenge has always been part of the human soul. not in its anatomy form or any interior or exterior aspects.
But functioning with its own parts.
Its the anger! Where it all starts. Jealousy and hurt were the main stream and always end to suffering.
Thats all for love. We'd all be needing for us to feel even.
Just a pinch of happiness just to get fair for someone that we love but did somethng wrong within us breaking us. Attacking every tiny vessels which in the end, Turning us into an evil creature.

It was a buss - telling me it was that simple thing. Not to make it more bigger. But lets end this up.
Still it hurts,... Still. Its another woman. Such senstivity arising.
Sharon Talbot Sep 2017
Sere and yellow,
Rough and round, [bright pebbles in a mound]
Pitted and mellow,
Winding our necks round,
We wore them.

Amber beads unearthed from clay,
Fashioned by my artist love,
Glowing yellow, filled with day,
Captures sunbeams from above.
I still love them.

Some say gods have made these,
To ensnare the light of Sun,
But we women saved these,
In memory & hope of sons,
We keep them.

Fat & smooth as butter,
We turned them in our hands.
The bone beads scraped with madder,
The amber just with sand.

Those of shadowy carnelian
Embedded like a shield,
We treasure as we fear them,
Like wounds on battlefields.

The others soaked with brownish earth,
Sere and yellow,
Rough and round, [bright pebbles in a mound]
Pitted and mellow,
Winding our necks round,
We wore them.

So, when we are dead, take not from us,
These rounded, golden suns,
But bury them with us, with sword and severed buss,
To revere the slaughtered ones,
Who never returned to us.

Revised November 15, 2016
This poem was inspired by several photos taken by poet/photography and historian, Giles Watson, of amber and other beads unearthed at an Anglo-Saxon dig site in England. I was struck by the way the amber still glowed after hundreds of years beneath the earth, and the artistry of them.
Ston Poet Dec 2015
I buck the system my *****, like forget the system ***** , This world is  so Corrupted, The government just wanna take away are feelings, & make us into killing machines..just like the Nazis
(****  America)..Uhh

(They lie to us2,..MK Ultra,
(Its mind control
2)..mind control
This **** is getting way outta control..)*2

Uhh, The **** been going on , I been In my zone,
I been sad for so very long..
I been writing all alone, I been stuck in my room, broken mirrors, & Monarch butterflies all around me, The voices in my head won't leave me alone mane, tryna distract me from my Fathers truth homie, I'm having  Dreams of demons tryna take hold of my soul..(I won't let em get to me thou..)..Ayo, I'm getting so sick & tired dawg..Im feeling very depress, homicidal & suicidal, like Tommy Wright the 3rd but forget killing myself dawg.. I'm  just about to buss out the AK & go Rambo &  make these ******* die dawg..They are gonna feel the wrath of Young Ston Poet.. The ****** Disciple , that I felt for so very long..Man its eating up my insides..Uhh

I buck the system my *****, **** The system my *****,..I'm bringing pandemonium..
**** The CIA ***** , America isn't protecting us  , They ain't doing nothing but putting us on a string..Uhh, So Forget America mane..Im blowing **** up like the Two brothers did at the Boston Marathon dawg..Real Talk man..Uhh,...I just don't give a **** any more,about nothing..Yeah

America **** them..Yeah
America is just filled with puppets man.. Sinning Machines, humanoids,clones..****, people thats just here for devilish purposes, like assassinations, & prostitution..
**** all of that sick **** man, **** being a robot for the white man, **** mind control..Imma stand against the **** ****..This is Only For The Real..This is Only For The Righteous.. Uhh

They lie to us, Its mind control.. MK Ultra..Uhh
stonpoet.tumblr.com
Pitch Hiker  Dec 2017
School Buss
Pitch Hiker Dec 2017
We are just kids on a school bus
We fill the bus with gossip
Tears, laughter
And the joy of daily conversations
With each others company for the
Hour we are stuck together
We are just kids on a school bus
On our way to greater things
Or less than
Planning to change the world
Wondering how
Or maybe not knowing if you will
Have any sort of affect
We are just kids on the school bus
Not knowing our worth
Losing our things
And accepting good deeds
For what their worth
We are just kids on a school buss
With the wheels going round and round
Juno  Oct 2018
Det Passar Bra
Juno Oct 2018
Varje dag jag går på buss tio
och jag ser någon som ser ut som dig


Och det passar bra.
Star Apr 2012
from the moment i first saw u i thought u were gonna be my everything.
u told me how beautiful i was,
you told me how i wasnt fat,
you told me how u like me bc of the way i look.
but 2 weeks after you were telling me how im not beautiful, i am fat, and you dont like me for who i am.
you broke my heart
then after i get over you 2 months later you come back
you kiss me and put ur hands in my pocket as u slide your fingers between mine,
you tell me you love me
and the feelings come back AGAIN!
then i look for you the next day and you tell how it never ment anything
and then u leave again
then all of a sudden your standing at the buss stop beging for me too come back
stop just stop coming back do you not understand all your doing is breaking my heart
im trying to move on just stop because you really dont love me im just your back up plan just be a man and stop breaking girls hearts because one of these days its gonna happen to you and your gonna feel horrible just stop coming back !!!

— The End —